Smiling, But Close to Tears
by Layne Muffins
Summary: "She needs me now." Things haven't been smooth sailing for Alfred and Natalya as of late. Maybe it's time for some repairs. America/Belarus AmeBel. Songfic: For the First Time. Part of "the script" series.


**A.N. I promised this AGES ago, and for that I apologize. Special thanks to Scarlette Smith for reminding me about this series. This is part of my "the script" series and if you'd like to know more about that, please check out my profile. This installment is based off the song "_For the First Time" _by The Script. **

Alfred exhaled into his glass bottle, shoulders slumped in defeat. He took another swig of the depressant, relishing in the fire searing down his throat, burning at the edges as he sought solace in oblivion. He wanted to fade away, to hold his breath and simply be no more. But while he was able to block out the raucous of his fellow barmates, ignore their drunken shouts and rough shoves, he could not remove her sulking image from its place at the back of his eyelids. Her, the girl he left weeping on the couch when he stormed out the door, thoughts of the world cumbersome on his mind. But there was no peace to be found in the liquid swishing around at the bottom of his bottle as he rotated it in circles.

"Another," he croaked, downing the remnants of his beer.

"I honestly think you've had enough, Al." The English bartender frowned, taking the bottle as the American slammed it down on the wooden bartop. "You've had nearly five pints now."

"Shut up, could you, Arthur?" Alfred growled at his friend, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Another."

"Alfred. Go home. You're not the only hurting."

Arthur cast his aged eyes upon the drunkard. Emerald eyes that seemed to hold too much wisdom for someone so young. Eyes that had traveled the world and back and seen all its imperfections. Eyes that Alfred had trusted countless times before and eyes that he trusted now.

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip, finger tracing the rim of the water ring his glass had left on the counter. With another hefty sigh, he pushed back from the bar and shouldered his bomber jacket that was draped across his chair. "See ya around, Arthur." Alfred tossed him a small wave and a pitiful smile before leaving Kirkland's bar.

* * *

Alfred hung his key on the keyring by his door. The key holder most often went unnoticed, the wedding present fading to the background of unimportant details as it became mundane. But perhaps Alfred had forgotten too many details lately. He cast a glance at the keyring a long, wistful last time and gave a hefty sigh. It had been custom made by her brother and sister, something so affectionately made and idiosyncratic to the couple. It had her in silent, dignified and happy tears when she had unwrapped it, what seemed like eons ago. Alfred tore his gaze away from the keyring with sad eyes and retired to the back of his house where he lingered before cautiously entering the bedroom.

She was curled up in their comforter, indigo eyes unseeing as they watched the wall. She turned her head to Alfred and he nearly cringed as sadness flooded the deep blues.

"I- Natalya, I'm sorry." Alfred whispered and took a step towards the bed. "It's just, things at work are difficult, I'm struggling to keep my job and I'm trying so hard to make things right. Natalya, these times are hard. I _need_ to keep this job."

She said nothing but turned away, her platinum hair falling to curtain her face. A mixture of emotions churned inside Alfred; depression, disappointment, failure, frustration. He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night and left her to lay mutely on the bed, picking a sheet from off the floor, making his way back to the tiny living room. He collapsed on the couch, he long and gawky body sprawled on the love-chair with the thin sheet cocooning him. Alfred stared into the darkness for hours and finally let it engulf him.

.

"She needs you, ya know." Matthew frowned, voice soft and careful. His flipped another black and gray paper over before snatching a newspaper from the large stack on his table.

"I know. That's why I'm looking for a new job. It's why I worked so hard to keep my last," Alfred groaned in stress and paused. "in vain. She needs me now." Alfred circled a potential job in red sharpie, pushing his glasses up his nose. "By the way, Matt. Thanks for letting me crash here for the weekend. And helping me find a new job."

"Of course, Al. That's what brothers are for. But I'm going to help you with something else now. Alfred, you've forgotten her, abandoned her. Don't."

Alfred glanced up and met lavender eyes, caring and knowing and Alfred was glad that he had so many people in his life with such wisdom in their eyes.

(And it breaks his heart to recall that there was once such a splendor in her eyes too.)

* * *

Standing in front of a wine shelf, Alfred pondered their predicament. How had they slipped into this phase of broken hearts and angry words? Their yelling matches had become expected and the anger became customary and then it became disappointment and then it was simply nothing but almost wistful looks and almost pensive frowns. Where had the love gone?

Alfred knew, deep in he heart that it had died what seemed like lifetimes ago when the smiles left and the laughter faded.

He glanced over the wines and grabbed the crumpled dollars from his pocket. He held the pile of wrinkled bills in one hand and grabbed three of the cheapest bottles of alcohol with the other.

.

She nodded painfully as Alfred explained yet another job loss.

"I'll head off to the dole," she muttered and Alfred almost winced; those were the first words she had spoken to Alfred in days. He nodded too and watched her as she left the house in a blue summer dress that was starting to fray and tear with her head held high. Despite her monetary troubles and regardless of her meager belongings, nothing had stripped the Belorussian of her pride.

A warm sense of adoration blossomed at Alfred's core, a mere fraction of the love felt before.

She was strong, but not invincible and Alfred had forgotten that her heart was aching too. He didn't know how he was going how to make it work, but he vowed to do so in a way where she would feel neglected no more. She would be cherished.

* * *

Alfred pushed the door aside with his hip as he entered the bedroom, a glass full of cherry liquid in each hand. She was bundled in the blankets, hair thrown over her shoulder, ebony bow holding her bangs, the dark color contrasting with her snowy hair. She wore only a black tank and navy shorts, dressed for bed. Natalya tilted her head to see him and her eyebrows faintly pulled together in confusion. In sweatpants and a plain white tee, Alfred shuffled across the carpet and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Nat," Alfred started, handing the girl a glass as she sat up. "It's time we talk." She nodded and took a sip of the wine.

"It's long past overdue that we talk."

.

"Okay, okay!" He laughed, taking a sip from his glass. "So you had a crush on your _brother_?!"

She giggled, dark eyes holding a peculiar warmth. "Hey now! I was like, ten okay? And well, he was one of the only guys who didn't think I was creepy or mean and oh, my glass is empty." She frowned down at her cup, swirling it around in disappointment.

"There's more bottles in the kitchen!" Alfred beamed, struggling to get up from the bed. He grabbed her outstretched hand and heaved her from the mattress. They made their way through the house, teetering in the imbalance of alcohol tainted movements. They were leaning on each other as they reached the small kitchen. Alfred opened the pantry and offered Natalya her own bottle as he took the other. "This is cheap crap. One day, I promise to you, I'm gonna be able to buy you the fanciest wine!"

"Imported from France! Italy!" She hummed and took a swig from the bottle, her lips painted crimson.

"Sparkling and red!" Alfred chimed, sluggishly readjusting his glasses.

She smiled and it might've been drunken, but there was something earnest about it, something he hadn't seen in such a long time. It was fresh and nice and lovely. And for the first time there wasn't sadness in her indigo eyes, but a content warmth residing there. The smile was new; it was like Alfred had chanced upon this girl for the first time.

Alfred F. Jones came to a realization that he barely knew Natalya Afroskaya.

"Natalya, what's you favorite thing about your family?" he asked suddenly, an air of uncharacteristic seriousness about him.

"Huh?" Natalya blinked and there was a shade of intelligence in her eyes, she knew, she followed along. (Because in all reality, perhaps she didn't know Alfred all that well either.) "Oh. They might be intimidating and distant, but they're caring. They looked out for me in a parentless childhood, Yeka and Ivan. They gave me warmth in such a cold world." She took another sip and licked her lips. "Favorite food to eat as a kid?"

"Burgers and cherry pie and Cola!" Alfred's smile pulled into a grin and Natalya glared at him.

"That's your favorite food _now." _

"So?" Alfred laughed and she shook her head. Not disdainfully, but almost playfully like older times. "What do you miss about Belarus?"

"The old little buildings and the people all bundled together for heat. There was an unspoken sense of togetherness. And when the summer months began, the gorgeous blue corn flowers would bloom. Yekaterina used to hold my hand as we walked through the fields." Natalya traced the rim of her galss, eyes filled with a faraway look of nostalgia. "When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Mm, that's easy. A fireman."

"A fireman? I didn't know that." Natalya pressed her lips together and slowly made her way to the front door, eyes on the keyring. "Do you still want to be a firemen, Alfred?"

A shiver ran up his spine as she spoke his name, rough in her accent that refused to fade away, but soft like only the way Natalya could balance the two. Alfred swallowed and thread his fingers through hers, staring at the keyring with her.

It was a beautiful thing, it really way. A mighty bald eagle extended his wings, eyes cast upward at an elegant white stork, snowy wings encircling the frame. Scattered across the holder were a plethora of two flowers, crimson roses and blue corn flowers that were the same shade as Natalya's eyes. Four brass rings were fastened at the bottom, holding their keys. It was a reminder to both of them, a testament of heritage and togetherness. Alfred had forgotten how beautiful it was. "Yeah," he finally answered.

"Then stop with all these new jobs and let's just be happy! Stop with all these new jobs and go to fire school." She retorted and Alfred's heart swelled with happiness. He said nothing in return, just smiled.

"I didn't think you were creepy or mean." He whispered after moments of silence. "I thought you were the most gorgeous thing I ever saw." He could feel Natalya's gaze on him, but he kept his eyes on the keyring. "I knew the moment I saw you that I wanted to marry you."

"You didn't know me." She breathed.

"You hated me!" Alfred beamed.

"In all fairness, you _did_ call my brother a Commie Bastard, and then proceeded to proclaim yourself as a hero." Natalya almost chuckled, slipping off her wedding band to roll it between her fingers. It was a simple thing, gold and thin. It was all he could afford. "You still don't know me."

Fear shot through Alfred's chest and panic rushed through him. He found himself struggling to breath, eyes wide with fright. "What are you saying, Natalya-"

"And I don't know you." She murmured.

"Are you- Are you leaving-"

Natalya slipped her ring back on and pressed her hand to Alfred's trembling lips. "But I'd love to get to know you."

* * *

They were slumped on their bed, legs tangled and arms around each other. His eyes never left hers, not until she muttered something about missing him so much and slowly wandered into sleep. He pressed a delicate kiss to her head and almost smirked at the thought of their hangover the next day. He watched her breathe for a moment longer and pushed aside all thoughts of a new job because as long as they had each other, they would work through it and he smiled at that thought, eyes closed and nearly watery with happiness. He felt the darkness of slumber lulling him to sleep in time with her soft breath and gave into it, his last waking sense a feeling of love re-experienced for the first time.

**A.N. The White Stork and the Corn Flower are national symbols of Belarus; the Bald Eagle and the Rose are symbols of the United States. They, surprisingly, actually seem to coincide in a peculiar beauty. **


End file.
